


a place where i erase the challenges i've been through

by Anonymous



Series: a feeling's not a thing you own [15]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Christmas is here, and Patton is dead.Thomas doesn't really think about him at all.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Deceit Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Thomas Sanders
Series: a feeling's not a thing you own [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1453462
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32
Collections: anonymous





	a place where i erase the challenges i've been through

**Author's Note:**

> i... didn't make this as angsty as usual. it might be fluff. but one bit is definitely angst and it is Stealth Angst
> 
> okay y'all (y'all? i am Tired) time for the Content Warnings. the cee-wees, if you will. here! we! go: religion. hella religion, centred on christmas. remus being a sexy jerk. references to part nine, and all the gore involved!!! some (hella) eating-disorder-fatphobia shit. remus's weird preoccupation with cannibalism, which really says more about me, as the writey-person who is making those words Go. also, the inherent guilt of receiving gifts when you're not particularly Into the whole Being Alive Thing, and implied bribery via material goods to keep someone alive. aside from that, no suicideyness happens, which is. uncommon in my story word strings
> 
> i don't know i'm still riding the high of seeing & smooching one of my best friends on sunday, and it's christmas tomorrow. tell me if i missed anything

“You know that I’m proud of you, right?” asks Roman, as Thomas uploads their Christmas video.

“What?” Virgil blinks a couple of times, before the whole of his face crinkles up in a suspecting squint.

Roman returns the stare with his own bewildered look. “I’m proud of Thomas. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Kind of.”

Thomas tenses when Virgil says the same thing as him. He looks up at him for a second, then away, to discerningly observe the spacebar of the computer.

Roman, meanwhile, seems to have frozen. His side of Creativity’s body stands completely still, with his shoulder slumped. His knuckles whiten as he clutches the frilled collar of their grey shirt. Remus, on the other hand, and the other half of the body, seems completely unaffected. He digs around one of his nostrils with his finger, then, upon finding a sufficiently large glob of red-tinged snot, eats it.

“You _don’t_ believe me,” Roman eventually says, almost sounding despondent.

“You haven’t given him much reason to,” snarls Virgil.

Thomas bites on the flesh of his hand. He hesitates for a few seconds as his two Sides watch him. “I don’t really think… I don’t believe that you _can_ be proud of me. You’ve…”

Smiling, Roman gesticulates a little. “ _I’ve_ …”

“Tried to kill all of us in one way or another!” Remus pipes up. “Hey, Ro, remember that time you kept changing costumes and then tried to kill me?”

Roman flinches, leaning his head into his shoulder, as far away from Remus’s loud mouth and foul breath as he can. If Thomas can smell it from here, then he doesn’t want to know how bad it smells for Roman.

“It was wild!” Remus looks around, addressing Thomas and Virgil. “Remember that film thing we did where Thomas got to dress up like a king and had to pretend to be straight and try and kill Malinda? Yeah, first he was in that, and then he had the gall to copy _my_ look! Bro, what the fuck were you thinking?”

As he chews on his long thumbnail, Roman mutters, “I kind of wasn’t.”

“Anyway, he gets his sword out, and, you know, I’m kind of thinking it’s kind of cultural appropriation, because that’s a Japanese sword, and, Thomas, you’re pretty white, like mayonnaise, or cum! Anyway, obviously, I get my morning-star out, and _boosh_! I’ve brained him in self-defence!” Remus cackles. “Oh, Thomas, you’ve _got_ to try it one day! The feeling of someone’s skull giving way from the momentum of your bludgeon, and the sound of their neck snapping from the speed, and their brains all splattered along the floor… It’s awful. Please, _never_ do that, Thomas. I can barely live with myself, some of the time!”

The acid and copper that flavours Thomas’s mouth, though he’s neither bitten his tongue hard enough to bleed, nor eaten enough to make himself puke, makes him swallow far too thinly.

Remus is still laughing in that hyena shriek he does; the one that makes Thomas remember that he’s the Duke; the Disney villain; the smiling cesspool of lunacy that escaped from its prison in the back of Thomas’s mind.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” murmurs Roman. “Thomas, I didn’t! I promise!”

Virgil sneers. “Yeah, _sure_. What was that whole Patton-clone suicide plot, again? A little plan to help Thomas stay alive?”

“Thomas wanted to die!” Roman proclaims, gesturing to Thomas. It would have been less trouble if he actually _had_ , he supposes, but Roman’s still talking. “I merely did what I thought was right!”

When Virgil flings his head back for a single, bitter laugh, Thomas can almost imagine that he’s grown a moustache. His desperate eyes are wide enough above the toothy grin of his mouth, though Virgil looks far more bitter than Remus ever does. “And the rest of us thought you were wrong, so how’s that work? When we stopped you, you didn’t change your mind. You’re just trying to play the innocent victim now, aren’t you?”

Roman holds his hand out, splayed with slightly curled fingers. “I’m trying to tell Thomas that I’m proud of him! That’s literally _all_ I was trying to do, Raggedy Ann- _xiety_!”

With a snort, Virgil responds, “ _Sure_. You know, I think Deceit’s quit his job, so I guess _you’re_ our local liar now, Princey.”

Thomas bites down harder on his finger, like he could tear through the flesh and shatter the bone between his teeth.

“Oh, them’s fighting words!” giggles Remus, bending his leg so that his and Roman’s shared hips wiggle. “What’re you gonna do about _that_ one?”

“All I’ve wanted to do is what Thomas _wants_ me to do! I’m the dreamy fantasy guy! My job is _literally_ to do my best to bring his greatest dreams into fruition!” Roman points at Virgil with as much passion as the Ace Attorney guy. “All you do is make him want to self-destruct so he doesn’t have to listen to you anymore!”

“Can you guys shut up?” Thomas yells, pulling his wet hand from his mouth. He walks away from his computer, and the tweet announcing the video, and looks between the Sides.

Roman? Being _proud_ of him? Fat chance. Stupid word choice; Roman isn’t proud of him _because_ he’s fat. Hell, in the video, Hope dressed up as Santa because, and Thomas quotes: “Santa has a fat tummy too!”

Like… He’s honest, but way to bring a guy down. Then again, Hope also talked about everyone loving Santa, but then Virgil brought up some points about how that didn’t include people who didn’t like, or who didn’t celebrate Christmas, because even though America has no official national religion, they – ‘they’ referring to ‘The Man’, in this context – kind of act like Christian holidays are the only ones worth noting and giving time off to celebrate. Eventually, Hope just started singing _We Wish You a Merry Christmas_ so loudly that everyone else gave up or joined in.

It had been fun, _unlike now_.

“Look, guys, you’re both being jerks to each other. Virgil, you’re trying to protect me, and I appreciate that. Thank you for being vigilant.” Thomas smiles at Virgil, then turns to Roman. “Roman, you’re doing your best to change, and be more constructive than you have been for these past months. Although our relationship is mending, and it is mending well, I’m still not really ready to accept that you could feel positively towards me. Thank you, however, for telling me how you feel. I’m grateful.”

He walks to the door of the office, brushing his hair from his eyes, before turning back to look at Remus.

Remus is looking down, picking at the crusty scab on his and Roman’s chest. It’s about in the same place where Thomas tried to scratch the skin off of his sternum that one time, but, while Thomas’s wound was shallow, and healed quickly, his Creativities’ wound still bleeds, and Remus eats the bits of skin and hair he picks off from it.

“Remus,” Thomas says, “I…”

He was going to express disappointment, because Remus had kind of been a dick, and maybe the fight wouldn’t have gotten so infuriating if he hadn’t been stoking the metaphorical flames, and turned the conversation onto Roman’s many mistakes.

Then again, Remus’s unhinged grin had seemed to hang under eyes that shone with tears. He’d begged Thomas to _not_ undertake a dangerous, illegal activity, for once.

He’d seemed regretful.

Thomas shakes his head, and opens the door. Outside, in the setting afternoon sun, his car awaits, ready to take him home.

* * *

Midnight Mass began at ten at night, which isn’t really _midnight_ , per se, but it’s a lot better than staying up until Thomas’s normal bedtime of early in the morning. It didn’t even _end_ at midnight. It all went on until one o’clock, and then there was the small-talk with strangers that had Ethan murmuring small deceptions into Thomas’s ear to be passed onto unsuspecting family friends.

Logan doesn’t really like to think about religion, or, at least, he doesn’t like to voice his thoughts. He will evaluate the effects it has on Thomas’s psyche, yes, and the impact it has on others, but he refuses to voice any definitive belief in the existence, or lack thereof, of a singular God or a pantheon of deities. There are simply some things too unknowable to be considered as wholly true or false, and, if he denies the existence of a Christian Hell, then Virgil will start to complain that Murphy’s Law indicates that, if there is an afterlife, then that’s the one they’ll be going to.

So, no, Logan isn’t really the part of Thomas preoccupied with religious teachings and such. That role went to Patton, once, while also being churned up and corrupted by Remus’s contributions. With all of the moral philosophy that the parables taught, Logan wouldn’t be surprised if Ethan got a good portion of religion, too.

Logan, Roman, and Virgil, though? They got the Catholic Guilt, and not much else. Logan’s good enough at ignoring it, now.

What he isn’t good at ignoring, though, is Hope. Hope is loud, and bright, and hops around the mindscape with far too much excitement.

When Thomas’s family starts leaving, it means that Thomas can also say abrupt goodbyes without feeling rude. Hope seems to barely be able wait for Thomas to get in his car before popping into existence in the middle seat.

“Thomas! It’s Christmas!” he cries, kicking his legs.

_Obvious statements are obvious_ , Logan decides. A twitch of amusement runs through Thomas, and… Yes, that is indeed a statement constructed around the formula of a meme, though it _was_ , in fact, unintentional.

Hope tilts his head rapidly from side to side, making the bell on his oversized antler headband jingle.

“It sure is,” Thomas responds, pulling out of his parking space.

“How do you think Santa travels the world so fast?” Hope muses, aloud. “Hey, Logan!”

Logan finds himself being pulled into existence in the passenger seat. He buckles his seatbelt, and makes sure Thomas and Hope both do the same, before answering, “Yes?”

“How do you think Santa travels around the world so fast?” repeats Hope, like Logan hadn’t heard exactly what was happening, because _he is a part of Thomas_.

Logan pushes his glasses up his nose and looks up to the car roof, as if it holds the answers to the universe, which it does not. If anything holds the answers to the universe; if the universe has answers for all the questions that have been asked of it, if they are able to be comprehended, they would be found in mathematic equations. Not car roofs.

He sighs. Thomas should not have a deluded Side. “Hope, Santa isn’t-”

“Ethically able to share his secrets!” Roman interrupts, smiling. “You know, it could be very dangerous if he did.”

Hope blinks, wide-eyed. “How?”

Through the rear-view mirror, Logan sees Roman’s face quickly return to a welcoming smile, rather than the brief expression he gets when he’s thinking of an idea.

“Well, obviously some of it is magic,” Roman tells him, in a gentle tone that is not unlike Ethan’s usual smooth lies, “but a lot of it is advanced technology that the government wants to use.”

“To invade other countries in the name of profit, because the US government is filled with warmongering assholes!” Remus beams. Then, in a more subdued tone, he adds, “Actually, that goes for… Pretty much every government. The government is shit, no matter where you live. Don’t trust them.”

Hope nods. “The government is full of greedy people in power, and we need to stop them by voting them out.”

Remus smirks, “I still think Guy Fawkes had the right idea.”

“Murder is illegal!” chirps Hope.

Logan, once again, exhales heavily. “At least he knows that, even if he doesn’t know that Santa doesn’t-”

“-go to every house, because a lot of people don’t celebrate Christmas!” Roman seems very proud at that, even if he’s glaring, thin-lipped, at Logan. “So, that also means that he doesn’t visit every house, or every child, because some people want Santa to give their gifts to other children.”

“Santa goes wherever he’s wanted, and all in a single night!” Remus leans his neck around Roman’s to leer at Hope. “You wanna know how he comes everywhere?”

Hope nods his head, jingling as he does so.

Remus’s smile breaks into a toothy, wicked grin. “Short refractory period.”

Thomas pulls in in front of an unlit house’s driveway, just to turn around and glare at Remus. Remus only responds with his expression growing a little more… Something. Logan is not acquainted every well with emotions, but he believes that the term used for this particular kind of smile is ‘shit-eating’.

“What? D’you want me to make another trigge-”

Before Remus can finish his sentence, Ethan materialises on the other seat next to Hope, and performs the gesture that will silence Remus for a moment.

Thomas nods at him, with an awkward, thin-lipped grimace.

Ethan returns the gesture.

As Thomas returns to driving carefully along the road for the last five minutes of his journey home, the recorded choir on the radio begins to sing another Christmas carol through the tinny car speakers.

“ _Silent night, holy night; All is calm, all is bright_.”

Logan doesn’t bother to suppress his smile as he hears Thomas sing.

Roman starts to join in, even though Remus giggles at the word _‘virgin’_ , and calls the _“Holy infant so tender and mild,”_ a “KFC chicken meal deal.”

Around the second verse, Thomas’s voice seems to grow tired, until he merely mumbles one, _“Christ, the saviour, is born,”_ to be shortly followed by Roman not being able to finish the last line.

Logan takes the organ break to resign himself to silence as they drive along familiar streets, but, when the choir begins to sing again, another pair of voices in the car begin to sing.

“ _Son of God; Love’s pure light_ ,” Hope warbles.

In Thomas’s lower range, Ethan harmonises. “ _Radiant beams from Thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace_.”

As the two of them finish – _“Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth!”_ – Logan finds himself clapping. Roman finds applause to be a suitable display of appreciation, and, since Hope and Ethan have also shown a proclivity for performance, Logan can only hope that they do too.

Roman seems to have the same idea, but, since his brother seems to be uncooperatively scratching himself, he slaps his hand against his thigh repeatedly.

“Bravo, Hope! Ethan!” he cheers in one of his most grandiose tones, as Thomas pulls into his parents’ driveway. “You never cease to impress me!”

Logan chances a glance at Thomas.

He’s smiling.

* * *

Thomas has agreed to stay up even later, watching various videos that he’s seen several times before, while Roman writes some things down in the Rudolph-patterned notebook he’d packed.

Hope would make an excellent Tiny Tim, if just for that _“God bless us, every one!”_ line. Roman can just feel his stomach fill with butterflies from that.

Then, Remus opens their shared gut, and tears out the fluttering butterflies.

“That feels too weirdly pleasant,” he says, squinting at Roman like he’s looking across a room instead of across, like, an inch of space. “Cut it out. Oh, wait, I did! Oh ho ho!”

Roman merely shakes his head and gets back to work. Then again, Hope would also make a fairly good Ghost of Christmas Future, with his unending, contagious positivity about _things getting better_. Or, maybe, Virgil would work well for that role, unless he makes a better Scrooge. Even though he’s grumpy, and says that Christmas makes him sick, he does also constantly consider every path that Thomas could take, and how it all goes wrong.

Oh, but, then again, maybe he’d make a good Ghost of Christmas Past. After all, didn’t Logan say, that one time, that nostalgia can exacerbate anxiety? Maybe, if _Thomas_ is Scrooge, then Virgil could take him back in time, when Christmas was happy and good and fun and nice and other things that Patton would say.

He’d assume that the knife in his gut was an imaginary feeling; a metaphor of missing Patton, but, no, Remus has just pulled it out and is now decorating his naked leg with patterns from the blood left on it.

Roman shakes his head and gets back to writing. Of course, ideas and concepts and people can change, and this is a plan for a large video for next year’s Christmas. He needs to record and develop as many relevant thoughts as he can think of.

Oh, what if Thomas’s friends played the human characters? And, then, the Sides were _only_ the ghosts! Talyn could be Tiny Tim, because they’re so short! _Tiny Talyn_!

He chuckles at the idea, jotting it down before it leaves his mind.

Now, would Logan or Ethan make a better Ghost of Christmas Present? Huh, or maybe Virgil would, because of the whole FOMO thing. No matter! Roman just needs to keep on writing.

* * *

Does Thomas rise bright and early on Christmas Day?

No. No, he does not.

He stays in bed until ten in the morning, when his mother comes to wake him up for a family breakfast. She strokes his cheek softly, and asks him questions until she receives responses that consist of multiple sentences, rather than sad grunting noises. She gives him a satsuma to unpeel and eat, which not only provides fast-acting sugars to quickly release energy, but also provides some hydration.

To be honest, Ethan is impressed.

No, not Ethan. Deceit. Thomas hates him, now. He doesn’t need a name to make him into more than a purpose; more than a liar.

“You know, one of your aunts can’t make it this year,” she tells him.

Deceit feels Thomas’s face fall; feels his worry. “Not Aunt Patty, right?”

He silences Remus before Thomas can be given a mental image of the aforementioned aunt as a Playboy Bunny.

“No, she’s coming, still,” she says. By now, Thomas has managed to sit up in bed, with his dressing gown over his shoulders, and his mother hugging him as he eats his last satsuma segment. “It’s Aunt Flo. Something came up, but she’s okay.”

“I _totally_ didn’t forget to buy her a present,” Thomas intones, before Deceit realises what he’s saying.

Mom laughs. Conspiratorially, she says, “I didn’t, either.”

That brings a smile to Thomas’s face.

“I brought it up with everybody, and we agreed that, if you want, one of your Sides can sit next to you during mealtimes,” she tells him.

Immediately, Thomas’s mind becomes full of thoughts overlapping each other, in excitement and fear and Remus-ness. Ethan pulls a curtain of silence across, separating the thoughts from what Thomas actually needs to do.

“Can I take a shower, first?” he asks. “I’ll figure it out when I’m out, but I’m just a bit… Yeah.”

“Of course!” Mom cups his face, pulling his face in to hers so that she can kiss his temple. Ethan ignores how she pats his cheek, and how it makes him more aware of the weight gained. “Breakfast will be in about half an hour, so make it a quick one, okay?”

As soon as she leaves, everyone rises up, except for Ethan.

“She is trying to prevent a bingeing episode,” Logan explains. “I requested that measures be taken, such as having someone help Thomas create normal portions, or for the meal to be served as a singular dish.”

“And that was all too much trouble and hassle to put onto someone else, so it’s up to us.” Virgil sneers, but Deceit can see the feelings of guilt he hides as clearly as the sun on a cloudless day.

“Isn’t it cool, though?” asks Hope. “I want Christmas dinner!”

Thomas sighs, pulling his bathrobe on over his now-bare shoulders. “And I want to shower. You sort it out here, and I’ll go do that, I guess.”

Logan nods.

Once the door to Thomas’s childhood bedroom has clicked shut behind him, Ethan appears with the other Sides.

“Does anyone absolutely _not_ want to go?” he asks.

Roman raises his hand well above his head, while Virgil seems to be trying to sink from sight without actually sinking out.

“I’m not subjecting our family to Remus,” he says, as Remus blows a long raspberry.

“And you, Virgil?” Ethan asks.

Virgil makes a noise, of some kind. “I really don’t want to eat in front of anyone, but, if I’m not there, then Thomas is going to eat too much. But, if I _am_ there, then I’ll be too stressed, and I’ll eat in order to avoid talking, and then we won’t be able to stop, and it’ll suck. We shouldn’t’ve come.”

“I want food!” Hope calls out again.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think Thomas is _currently_ stable enough for you to do so, in _this_ situation.” Ethan speaks each syllable with care. If Hope gets upset _now_ , he doesn’t know _what_ will happen, so he tries to think of a phrase that might sweeten the deal. Hope lives on possibilities, after all. “ _Perhaps_ , in the future, we will all be able to enjoy some nice, big meals with Thomas, without having to worry about his mental health.”

As he listens to Deceit, Hopes eyes grow wider, and his mouth draws into a serious little heart-shaped pout. At the end, he smiles, and nods. The bobble of his Santa hat flies up and over to hit his nose as he does so.

“One day, but not now!” he agrees.

That leaves them with two Sides that can help Thomas. Silently, Logan and Ethan look at each other.

* * *

His presents are expensive, personal, or both.

Thomas doesn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but he wishes they weren’t. It kind of feels like they’re plying him with gifts, like a will to live can be bought or sold like a new pair of shiny shoes. His more distant relatives have fallen into the ancient tradition of just giving sweets for Christmas, which kind of feels a little bit insensitive, you know?

Or maybe that’s just him being conceited.

The photo album his brother gives him is received with gratitude, but Thomas actually doesn’t want to open it, to be honest. He doesn’t want to see the child he used to be, and how he once smiled. He doesn’t want to see his ex-boyfriend. If he sees a picture of himself from last year, smiling with nary a care, he might actually try to find a gun and shoot himself.

At that thought, Logan grips his hand. With a shaky smile, Thomas pushes that thought away. It doesn’t need to mean anything.

Logan’s worked so hard, ordering everyone’s presents, and giving Thomas adequate time to wrap them. All the Sides joined in, really. It had been a fun evening, just getting tape stuck on themselves, and watching Remus eat wrapping paper shreds. Well, it might have been. Thomas is pretty sure that, when he laughed, he had been genuine.

Dinner… Dinner is terrifying. A huge hunk of meat – which Remus internally comments could be pretty easily replaced by human meat – serves as the centrepiece, while vegetables drowning in melted butter or cooked in goose fat surround it. Various potato dishes are interspersed with them, all in orbit as Dad carves the ham up and gives a serving to each family member, except for the vegetarians, who already have a hastily-cooked nut roast on their plates.

Logan murmurs reassurances in such a quiet voice that only Thomas can make out the words, while everyone says Grace.

“It’s okay for you to eat.”

“Take it slowly. Savour what you put in your mouth.”

“You don’t have to finish your plate if you don’t want to, but you don’t have to leave anything, either.”

Thomas takes that advice. He takes his time chewing and swallowing his food, even while everyone has moved onto second or third helpings. The ham is not supple, but it is not overly tough to eat. The potatoes are fluffy, but the scalloped ones tend to come out slimy, so Thomas does his best to not eat them.

He bites the green beans, and runs his tongue along the seam where the two halves meet, firm enough to split them open. Once more with his tongue, he scoops the beans out, and chews them between his incisors, and swallows them all. The main outside of the beans are ground up between his molars and swallowed.

The broccoli has been steamed with herbs and seasonings, enhancing the natural flavour and making new ones burst inside Thomas’s mouth. He doesn’t make himself eat the roasted carrots, because he doesn’t like carrots, even if the Side next to him does so.

He eats, and he doesn’t hate himself.

“Thanks, Ethan,” he says, once the more distant relatives have left, and Thomas is left in the house that used to be his home with the people who always were, and always will be, his family.

Ethan splutters, raising a hand to his chest. “I’m not E-” He holds the ‘E’ for an unusually long time, especially since his eyes are wide and flickering around the room in order to look at anything that isn’t Thomas. “Deceit.”

Thomas blinks, unmoving.

With a groan, Ethan lets his disguise slip away. Instead of Logan’s new Christmas jumper, courtesy of Roman, Remus, and Hope, he wears one of his own, designed after his many arms and love for yellow.

“You’re Self-Preservation,” Thomas murmurs, as they stand alone in the dim living room. “Aren’t you, Ethan?”

He doesn’t speak. He just nods his head, as if he can’t trust himself to say anything.

Thomas discovers, in the next few minutes, that being hugged feels even more safe when your hugging partner has multiple arms, and a steady heartbeat, and loves you more than anything else in the world.


End file.
